Graduation Day (The Testing, #3)(17)

She blinks behind her glasses. “Of course.”

I choose each word with caution as I say, “Do you think The Testing is the best way to select future leaders?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I heard people at the president’s office discussing The Testing. Since I don’t remember my experience, I thought I’d ask your opinion. Do you think putting candidates through The Testing is necessary?”

“We need strong leaders more than ever before. One wrong choice could cause everything we have rebuilt to collapse.” Dark eyes filled with conviction meet mine. “The Testing is not only necessary—in my opinion, the process is not nearly hard enough.”

The confidence in her stride as she walks out the door leaves no doubt. If Professor Holt has her way, even more Testing candidates will die.





[page]Chapter 5


THE RESIDENCE HALL is quiet as I go to the dining area to get something to eat. I fill a plate and balance it as I walk up the two flights of stairs. Unlike most nights, no one is wandering the halls, which makes me wonder about Will’s arrival during my interview with Professor Holt. Why was he out of his rooms? Was he looking for me? His appearance helped me come up with a plausible answer to her question. Was that on purpose or just a coincidence?

I have not come up with answers to these questions about Will as I turn the key in my lock and enter my rooms. Pushing aside all thoughts of Will and whatever agenda he might have, I unfasten my bag and look at the things I took from the room on the fifth floor. Why I selected these items is still a mystery to me. Perhaps instinct had me grabbing anything that would give me comfort. Fixing, creating, and modifying technology has always been what I have done best. Since being assigned to Government Studies, I have felt removed from that part of me, just as geography and our different fields of study have made me feel cut off from Tomas. Suddenly, I realize that the pulse radios in my possession mean neither is an obstacle.

After the Seven Stages of War, scientists utilized the higher concentration of electromagnetic radiation in the air to restore communication with these devices. Pulse radios were designed to record chunks of information and, using pulselike signals, send them to receiving devices that are set to a corresponding frequency. Because any device set to the same frequency as the sending radio can receive the recorded message, pulse radio signals are not a secure form of communication. But if we pick frequencies unused by the Commonwealth and alternate them often, Tomas and I will have a better form of communication than has been available to us thus far. For that, I am willing to take the risk.

The other items from the fifth-floor room I have less of a sense of purpose about. I turn a small recorder over in my hands. It resembles the one I remember finding in my Testing bracelet. Perhaps it will be useful, but at the moment I’m not sure how. Setting this recorder aside, I look at the tracking devices. While I am unsure how to use them to my advantage, there’s always a chance they could be valuable.

I glance at the clock. It’s after nine, but still the Transit Communicator is silent. Forcing myself to eat, I contemplate how best to modify the frequency of the pulse radio to something not typically used by Commonwealth officials. The knot of worry in my chest dissolves as I focus on a problem I can solve.

Using the screwdriver part of my pocketknife, I remove the back cover of the pulse radios and examine the transmitters and receivers. The receiving frequency is easiest to modify. Just a couple turns of a screw and it will shift downward. The transmitting frequency is more challenging, since these pulse radios do not contain oscillators but rather use surface acoustic wave filters. To alter the frequency, I will need to swap the SAW resonator and several other parts.

I look through the items in my desk drawer, hoping to find what I need. But while I come up with a few pieces I can use, others are missing. The lab rooms downstairs will have those. I hope.

After placing the cover back on the radio, I put everything back in my bag and head for the door. Downstairs, the corridors are empty. The officials in purple are gone. Everything is as still as a tomb. I turn to the right and head down the hallway in the opposite direction of the common room toward the four labs we are allowed to use for our studies.

Labs 1 and 4 are occupied, telling me that not everyone has chosen to hide in their rooms. Treading as lightly as possible, I walk into Lab 2, put my bag on the metal counter, and walk to a set of small drawers to search for the items I need to create my SAW filter and additional components. Bits of copper. A small ceramic square. Small screws. I work quickly. My confidence grows as I solder metal, connect the wires, and put that radio aside to begin work on the next one. The second is easier, since I have completed this manipulation once. When I am finished, I speak my name into the first pulse radio’s recorder and press Send. Moments later I hear my voice address me from the other radio. It worked. The two are now functioning at a different frequency.

I start to work on the other two radios but then stop to consider my options. By making all the radios the same frequency, I can allow four people to send messages to each other. While this sounds like a reasonable idea, I’m not sure it is the best plan. Whatever communication I have with Tomas I want kept private. He is the only one I am sure is on my side. The way to keep what we say between us is to set the other radios to a separate frequency and modify mine with an oscillator so it can change between the two.

The work calms me. My mind empties of everything except equations to determine frequency. Creating the oscillator circuit. Adding the pieces necessary to allow mine to swing between the other pulse radios. The higher frequency I keep for Tomas. The lower works with the other radios. Who I might give them to or why is still to be determined. When I am done, I pack the radios in my bag and go back to my room proud of the job I have done. As I curl up on my bed with the Transit Communicator clutched in my hands, I can only hope Zeen is safe.